THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 
By  Max  Beerbohm 


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THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE. 


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The  Happy  Hypocrite 

A  FAIRY  TALE  FOR  TIRED  MEN 

BY 

MAX  BEERBOHM 


®o.  1 


John  Lane,  The  Bod/ey  Head, 

New  York  and  London 

1897 


Copyright,  1896 
BY  John  Lane 


The  Happy  Hypocrite 

By  Max  Beerbohm 

NONE,  it  is  said,  of  all  who  revelled  with  the  Regent, 
was  half  so  wicked  as  Lord  George  Hell.  I  will 
not  trouble  my  little  readers  with  a  long  recital  of 
his  great  naughtiness.  But  it  were  well  they  should 
know  that  he  was  greedy,  destructive,  and  disobe- 
dient. I  am  afraid  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  often  sat  up 
at  Carlton  House  until  long  after  bed -time,  playing  at 
games,  and  that  he  generally  ate  and  drank  far  more  than 
was  good  for  him.  His  fondness  for  fine  clothes  was 
such,  that  he  used  to  dress  on  week-days  quite  as  gorge- 
ously as  good  people  dress  on  Sundays.  He  was  thirty- 
five  years  old  and  a  great  grief  to  his  parents. 

And  the  worst  of  it  was  that  he  set  such  a  bad  example 
to  others.      Never,  never  did  he  try  to  conceal  his  wrong- 


Tr.R. 

I3'^15■HA 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 


doing  ;  so  that,  in  time,  every  one  knew  how  horrid  he 
was.  In  fact,  I  think  he  was  proud  of  being  horrid. 
Captain  Tarleton,  in  his  account  of  Contemporary  Bucki 
suggested  that  his  lordship's  great  Candour  was  a  virtue 
and  should  incline  us  to  forgive  some  of  his  abominable 
faults.  But,  painful  as  it  is  to  me  to  dissent  from  any  opin- 
ion expressed  by  one  who  is  now  dead,  I  hold  that  Can- 
dour is  good,  only  when  it  reveals  good  actions  or  good 
sentiments  and,  that,  when  it  reveals  evil,  itself  is  evil, 
even  also. 

Lord  George  Hell  did,  at  last,  atone  for  all  his  faults, 
in  a  way  that  was  never  revealed  to  the  world  during  his 
life-time.  The  reason  of  his  strange  and  sudden  disap- 
pearance from  that  social  sphere,  in  which  he  had  so  long 
moved  and  never  moved  again,  I  will  unfold.  My  little 
readers  will  then,  I  think,  acknowledge  that  any  angry 
judgment  they  may  have  passed  upon  him  must  be  recon- 
sidered and,  it  may  be,  withdrawn.  I  will  leave  his  lord- 
ship in  their  hands.  But  my  plea  for  him  will  not  be 
based  upon  that  Candour  of  his,  which  some  of  his  friends 
so  much  admired.  There  were,  yes!  some  so  weak  and  so 
wayward  as  to  think  it  a  fine  thing  to  have  an  historic  title 
and    no  scruples.      "Here  comes  George  Hell,"   they 

4 


THE   HAPPY   HYPOCRITE 

would  say,  "How  wicked  my  lord  is  looking  !*'  Noblesse 
oblige,  you  see,  and  so  an  aristocrat  should  be  very  care- 
fiil  of  his  good  name.  Anonymous  naughtiness  does  little 
harm. 

It  is  pleasant  to  record  that  many  persons  were  unob- 
noxious  to  the  magic  of  his  title  and  disaproved  of  him  so 
strongly  that,  whenever  he  entered  a  room  where  they 
happened  to  be,  they  would  make  straight  for  the  door 
and  watch  him  very  severely  through  the  key-hole.  Every 
morning,  when  he  strolled  up  Piccadilly,  they  crossed  over 
to  the  other  side  in  a  compact  body,  leaving  him  to  the 
companionship  of  his  bad  companions  on  that  which  is  still 
called  the  "shady"  side.  Lord  George — Gf^ixXiog — 
was  quite  indifferent  to  this  demonstration.  Indeed,  he 
seemed  wholly  hardened  and  when  ladies  gathered  up 
their  skirts  as  they  passed  him,  he  would  lightly  appraise 
their  ankles. 

I  am  glad  I  never  saw  his  lordship.  They  say  he  was 
rather  like  Caligula,  with  a  dash  of  Sir  John  FalstafF,  and 
that  sometimes  on  wintry  mornings  in  St.  James's  Street, 
young  children  would  hush  their  prattle  and  cling  in  dis- 
consolate terror  to  their  nurse's  skirts,  as  they  saw  him 
come  (that  vast  and  fearful  gentleman  !)  with  the  east  wind 

5 


THE   HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

ruffling  the  rotund  surface  of  his  beaver,  ruffling  the  fiir 
about  his  neck  and  wrists,  and  striking  the  purple  com- 
plexion of  his  cheeks  to  a  still  deeper  purple.  "King 
Bogey  ' '  they  called  him  in  the  nurseries.  In  the  hours 
when  they  too  were  naughty,  their  nurses  would  predict 
his  advent  down  the  chimney  or  from  the  hnen-press,  and 
then  they  always  "behaved."  So  that,  you  see,  even 
the  unrighteous  are  a  power  for  good,  in  the  hands  of 
nurses. 

It  is  true  that  his  lordship  was  a  non-smoker — a  nega- 
■jve  virtue,  certainly,  and  due,  even  that,  I  fear,  to  the 
fashion  of  the  day — but  there  the  list  of  his  good  quahties 
comes  to  an  abrupt  conclusion.  He  loved  with  an  insati- 
able love  the  town  and  the  pleasures  of  the  town,  whilst 
the  ennobling  influences  of  our  English  lakes  were  quite 
unknown  to  him.  He  used  to  boast  that  he  had  not  seen 
a  buttercup  for  twenty  years,  and  once  he  called  the 
country  "a  Fool's  Paradise."  London  was  the  only 
place  marked  on  the  map  of  his  mind.  London  gave  him 
all  he  wished  for.  Is  it  not  extraordinary  to  think  that  he 
had  never  spent  a  happy  day  nor  a  day  of  any  kind  in 
FoUard  Chase,  that  desirable  mansion  in  Herts,  which  he 
had  won  from  Sir  Follard  Follard,  by  a  chuck  of  the  dice, 
6 


THE   HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

at  Boodle's,  on  his  seventeenth  birtl"iday  ?  Always  cyni- 
cal and  unkind,  he  had  refused  to  give  the  broken  baronet 
his  "revenge."  Always  unkind  and  insolent,  he  had 
offered  to  instal  him  in  the  lodge — an  offer  which  was, 
after  a  little  hesitation,  accepted.  "  On  my  soul,  the 
man's  place  is  a  sinecure,"  Lord  George  would  say  ;  **  he 
never  has  to  open  the  gate  to  me."  *  So  rust  had  cov- 
ered the  great  iron  gates  of  Follard  Chase,  and  moss  had 
covered  its  paths.  The  deer  browsed  upon  its  terraces. 
There  were  only  wild  flowers  anywhere.  Deep  down 
among  the  weeds  and  water-hlies  of  the  little  stone-rimmed 
pond  he  had  looked  down  upon,  lay  the  marble  faun,  as 
he  had  fallen. 

Of  all  the  sins  of  his  lordship's  life  surely  not  one  was 
more  wanton  than  his  neglect  of  Follard  Chase.  Some 
whispered  (nor  did  he  ever  trouble  to  deny)  that  he  had 
won  it  by  foul  means,  by  loaded  dice.  Indeed  no  card- 
player  in  St.  James's  cheated  more  persistently  than  he. 
As  he  was  rich  and  had  no  wife  and  family  to  support, 
and  as  his  luck  was  always  capital,  I  can  offer  no  excuse 
for  his  conduct.  At  Carlton  House,  in  the  presence  of 
many  bishops  and  cabinet  ministers,  he  once  dunned  the 

*  Lord  Ctliralnt'i  Corrtifcndtnet,  page  loi. 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

Regent  most  arrogantly  for  5000  guineas  out  of  which  he 
had  cheated  him  some  months  before,  and  went  so  far  as 
to  declare  that  he  would  not  leave  the  house  till  he  got  it ; 
whereupon  His  Royal  Highness,  with  that  unfailing  tact 
for  which  he  was  ever  famous,  invited  him  to  stay  there 
as  a  guest,  which,  in  fact.  Lord  George  did,  for  several 
months.  After  this,  we  can  hardly  be  surprised  when  we 
read  that  he  *' seldom  sat  down  to  the  fashionable  game 
of  Limbo  with  less  than  four,  and  sometimes  with  as 
many  as  seven  aces  up  his  sleeve."*  We  can  only  wonder 
that  he  was  tolerated  at  all. 

At  Garble' s,  that  nightly  resort  of  titled  rips  and  roys- 
terers,  he  usually  spent  the  early  part  of  his  evenings. 
Round  the  illuminated  garden,  with  La  Gambogi,  the 
dancer,  on  his  arm  and  a  Bacchic  retinue  at  his  heels,  he 
would  amble  leisurely,  clad  in  Georgian  costume,  which 
was  not  then,  of  course,  fancy  dress,  as  it  is  now.-}-  Now 
and  again,  in  the  midst  of  his  noisy  talk,  he  would  crack 
a  joke  of  the  period,  or  break  into  a  sentimental  ballad, 

*   Cuntemforary  Bucii,  vol.  i,  page  7J. 

■f  It  would  seem,  however,  that,  on  special  occasions,  his  lordship  indulged  in 
odd  costumes.  "I  have  seen  him,"  says  Captain  Tarleton  (vol.  i,  p.  69),  "attired 
as  a  French  clown,  as  a  sailor,  or  in  the  crimson  hose  of  a  Sicilian  grandee — ftu 
hiau  sftctacle.     He  never  disguised  his  face,  whatever  his  coatume,  however." 


THE    HAPPY    HYPOCRITE 


dance  a  little,  or  pick  a  quarrel.  When  he  tired  of  such 
fooling,  he  would  proceed  to  his  box  in  the  tiny  al fresco 
theatre  and  patronise  the  jugglers,  pugilists,  play-actors 
and  whatever  eccentric  persons  happened  to  be  perform- 
ing there. 

The  stars  were  splendid  and  the  moon  as  beautiful  as  a 
great  camelia  one  night  in  May,  as  his  lordship  laid  his 
arms  upon  the  cushioned  ledge  of  his  box  and  watched 
the  antics  of  the  Merry  Dwarf,  a  little,  curly-headed 
creature,  whose  debut  it  was.  Certainly  Garble  had 
found  a  novelty.  Lord  George  led  the  applause,  and  the 
Dwarf  finished  his  frisking  with  a  pretty  song  about  lovers. 
Nor  was  this  all.  Feats  of  archery  were  to  follow.  In 
a  moment  the  Dwarf  reappeared  with  a  small,  gilded  bow 
in  his  hand  and  a  quiverful  of  arrows  slung  at  his  shoulder. 
Hither  and  thither  he  shot  these  vibrant  arrows,  very  pre- 
cisely, several  into  the  bark  of  the  acacias  that  grew  about 
the  overt  stage,  several  into  the  fluted  columns  of  the 
boxes,  two  or  three  to  the  stars.  The  audience  was  de- 
lighted. "Bravo!  Bravo  Saggitaro I'^  murmured  Lord 
George,  in  the  language  of  La  Gambogi,  who  was  at  his 
side.  Finally,  the  waxen  figure  of  a  man  was  carried  on 
by  an  assistant  and  propped  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree. 

9 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 


A  scarf  was  tied  across  the  eyes  of  the  Merry  Dwarf,  who 
stood  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  stage.  Bravo  indeed  ! 
For  the  shaft  had  pierced  the  waxen  figure  through  the 
heart  or  just  where  the  heart  would  have  been,  if  the  fig- 
ure had  been  human  and  not  waxen. 

Lord  George  called  for  port  and  champagne  and  beck- 
oned the  bowing  homuncle  to  his  box,  that  he  might 
compliment  him  on  his  skill  and  pledge  him  in  a  bumper 
of  the  grape. 

**  On  my  soul,  you  have  a  genius  for  the  bow,"  his 
lordship  cried  with  florid  condescension.  '*Come  and 
sit  by  me,  but  first  let  me  present  you  to  my  divine  com- 
panion the  Signora  Gambogi — Virgo  and  Sagittarius,  egad! 
You  may  have  met  on  the  Zodiac." 

"Indeed,  I  met  the  Signora  many  years  ago,"  the 
Dwarf  replied,  with  a  low  bow.  "  But  not  on  the  Zo- 
diac, and  the  Signora  perhaps  forgets  me." 

At  this  speech  the  Signora  flushed  angrily,  for  she  was 
indeed  no  longer  young,  and  the  Dwarf  had  a  childish 
face.  She  thought  he  mocked  her  ;  her  eyes  flashed. 
Lord  George's  twinkled  rather  maliciously. 

"Great  is  the  experience  of  youth,"  he  laughed. 
*•  Pray,  are  you  stricken  vnxh.  more  than  twenty  summers? '  * 
lo 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

"  With  more  than  I  can  count,"  said  the  Dwarf.  **To 
the  health  of  your  lordship  !"  and  he  drained  his  long 
glass  of  wine.  Lord  George  replenished  it,  and  asked  by 
what  means  or  miracle  he  had  acquired  his  mastery  of 
the  bow. 

"By  long  practice,"  the  little  thing  rejoined  ;  "long 
practice  on  human  creatures."  And  he  nodded  his  curls 
mysteriously. 

**  On  my  heart,  you  are  a  dangerous  box-mate." 
"Your  lordship  were  certainly  a  good  target." 
Little  liking  this  joke  at  his  bulk,  which  really  rivalled 
the  Regent's,  Lord  George  turned  brusquely  in  his  chair 
and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  stage.      This  time  it  was  the 
Gambogi  who  laughed. 

A  new  operette.  The  Fair  Captive  of  Samarcand,  was 
being  enacted,  and  the  frequenters  of  Garble' s  were  all 
curious  to  behold  the  new  debutante,  Jenny  Mere,  who 
was  said  to  be  both  pretty  and  talented.  These  predic- 
tions were  surely  fulfilled,  when  the  captive  peeped  from 
the  window  of  her  wooden  turret.  She  looked  so  pale 
under  her  blue  turban.  Her  eyes  were  dark  with  fear  ; 
her  parted  lips  did  not  seem  capable  of  speech.  "  Is  it 
that  she  is  frightened  of  us  ? "  the  audience  wondered. 
II 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

"  Or  of  the  flashing  scimitar  of  Aphoschaz,  the  cruel  father 
who  holds  her  captive  ?  So  they  gave  her  loud  applause, 
and  when  at  length  she  jumped  down,  to  be  caught  in  the 
arms  of  her  gallant  lover,  Nissarah,  and,  throwing  aside 
her  Eastern  draperies,  did  a  simple  dance,  in  the  conven- 
tion of  Columbine,  their  delight  was  quite  unbounded. 
She  was  very  young  and  did  not  dance  very  well,  it  is 
true,  but  they  forgave  her  that.  And  when  she  turned  in 
the  dance  and  saw  her  father  with  his  scimitar,  their  hearts 
beat  swiftly  for  her.  Nor  were  all  eyes  tearless  when  she 
pleaded  with  him  for  her  life. 

Strangely  absorbed,  quite  callous  of  his  two  compan- 
ions. Lord  George  gazed  over  the  footlights.  He  seemed 
as  one  who  is  in  a  trance.  Of  a  sudden,  something  shot 
sharp  into  his  heart.  In  pain  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and, 
as  he  turned,  he  seemed  to  see  a  winged  and  laughing 
child,  in  whose  hand  was  a  bow,  fly  swiftly  away  into 
the  darkness.  At  his  side,  was  the  Dwarf's  chair.  It 
was  empty.  Only  La  Gambogi  was  with  him,  and  her 
dark  face  was  like  the  face  of  a  fiiry. 

Presently  he  sank  back  into  his  chair,  holding  one  hand 
to  his  heart,  that  still  throbbed  from  the  strange  transfixion. 
He  breathed  very  painflilly  and  seemed  scarce  conscious 

12 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

of  his  surroundings.  But  La  Gambogi  knew  he  would 
pay  no  more  homage  to  her  now,  for  that  the  love  of 
Jenny  Mere  had  come  into  his  heart. 

When  the  operette  was  over,  his  love-sick  lordship 
snatched  up  his  cloak  and  went  away  without  one  word 
to  the  lady  at  his  side.  Rudely  he  brushed  aside  Count 
KarolofF  and  Mr.  FitzClarence,  with  whom  he  had  ar- 
ranged to  play  hazard.  Of  his  comrades,  his  cynicism, 
his  reckless  scorn — of  all  the  material  of  his  existence — 
he  was  oblivious  now.  He  had  no  time  for  penitence  or 
diffident  delay.  He  only  knew  that  he  must  kneel  at  the 
feet  of  Jenny  Mere  and  ask  her  to  be  his  wife. 

**Miss  Mere,"  said  Garble,  "is  in  her  room,  resum- 
ing her  ordinary  attire.  If  your  lordship  deign  to  await 
the  conclusion  of  her  humble  toilet,  it  shall  be  my  privi- 
lege to  present  her  to  your  lordship.  Even  now,  indeed, 
I  hear  her  footfall  on  the  stair." 

Lord  George  uncovered  his  head  and  with  one  hand 
nervously  smoothed  his  rebellious  wig. 

"Miss  Mere,  come  hither,"  said  Garble.  **  This  is 
my  Lord  George  Hell,  that  you  have  pleased  whom  by 
your  poor  efforts  this  night  will  ever  be  the  prime  gratifi- 
cation of  your  passage  through  the  roseate  realms  of  art," 

I 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 


Little  Miss  Mere,  who  had  never  seen  a  lord,  except 
in  fancy  or  in  dreams,  curtseyed  shyly  and  hung  her  head. 
With  a  loud  crash.  Lord  George  fell  on  his  knees.  The 
manager  was  greatly  surprised,  the  girl  greatly  embar- 
rassed. Yet  neither  of  them  laughed,  for  sincerity  digni- 
fied his  posture  and  sent  eloquence  from  its  hps. 

*' Miss  Mere,"  he  cried,  "give  ear,  I  pray  you,  to 
my  poor  words,  nor  spurn  me  in  misprision  from  the  ped- 
estal of  your  beauty,  genius,  and  virtue.  All  too  conscious, 
aJas  !  of  my  presumption  in  the  same,  I  yet  abase  myself 
before  you  as  a  suitor  for  your  adorable  hand.  I  grope 
under  the  shadow  of  your  raven  locks.  I  am  dazzled  in 
the  light  of  those  translucent  orbs,  your  eyes.  In  the  in- 
tolerable whirlwind  of  your  fame  I  faint  and  am  afraid." 

**Sir "  the  girl  began,  simply. 

*'Say  *  My  Lord,'  "  said  Garble,  solemnly. 

"  My  lord,  I  thank  you  for  your  words.  They  are 
beautiful.    But  indeed,  indeed,  I  can  never  be  your  bride." 

Lord  George  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

**  Child,"  said  Mr.  Garble,  "  let  not  the  sun  rise  e'er 
you  have  retracted  those  wicked  words." 

**  My  wealth,  my  rank,  my  irremeable  love  for  you,  I 
throw  them  at  your  feet,"  Lord  George,  cried  piteously. 
14 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 


"  I  would  wait  an  hour,  a  week,  a  lustre,  even  a  decade, 
did  you  but  bid  me  hope  !  " 

"I  can  never  be  your  wife,"  she  said,  slowly.  "I 
can  never  be  the  wife  of  any  man  whose  face  is  not  saint- 
ly. Your  face,  my  lord,  mirrors,  it  may  be,  true  love 
for  me,  but  it  is  even  as  a  mirror  long  tarnished  by  the  re- 
flection of  this  world's  vanity.  It  is  even  as  a  tarnished 
mirror.  Do  not  kneel  to  me,  for  I  am  poor  and  humble. 
I  was  not  made  for  such  impetuous  wooing.  Kneel,  if 
you  please,  to  some  greater,  gayer  lady.  As  for  my 
love,  it  is  my  own,  nor  can  it  be  ever  torn  from  me,  but 
given,  as  true  love  must  needs  be  given,  freely.  Ah, 
rise  from  your  knees.  That  man,  whose  face  is  won- 
derful as  are  the  faces  of  the  saints,  to  him  I  will  give  my 
true  love." 

Miss  Mere,  though  visibly  affected,  had  spoken  this 
speech  with  a  gesture  and  elocution  so  superb,  that  Mr. 
Garble  could  not  help  applauding,  deeply  though  he  re- 
gretted her  attitude  towards  his  honoured  patron.  As 
for  Lord  George,  he  was  immobile,  a  stricken  oak.  With 
a  sweet  look  of  pity.  Miss  Mere  went  her  way,  and  Mr. 
Garble,  with  some  sohcitude,  helped  his  lordship  to  rise 
from  his  knees.      Out  into  the  night,  without  a  word,  his 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

lordship  went.  Above  him  the  stars  were  still  splendid. 
They  seemed  to  mock  the  festoons  of  Httle  lamps,  dim 
now  and  guttering,  in  the  garden  of  Garble' s.  What 
should  he  do?  No  thoughts  came;  only  his  heart  burnt 
hotly.  He  stood  on  the  brim  of  Garble' s  lake,  shallow 
and  artificial  as  his  past  hfe  had  been.  Two  swans  slept 
on  its  surface.  The  moon  shone  strangely  upon  their 
white,  twisted  necks.  Should  he  drown  himself?  There 
was  no  one  in  the  garden  to  prevent  him,  and  in  the 
morning  they  would  find  him  floating  there,  one  of  the 
noblest  of  love's  victims.  The  garden  would  be  closed 
in  the  evening.  There  would  be  no  performance  in  the 
little  theatre.  It  might  be  that  Jenny  Mere  would 
mourn  him.  "Life  is  a  prison,  without  bars,"  he  mur- 
mured, as  he  walked  away. 

All  night  long  he  strode,  knowing  not  whither,  through 
the  mysterious  streets  and  squares  of  London.  The 
watchmen,  to  whom  his  figure  was  most  familiar,  gripped 
their  staves  at  his  approach,  for  they  had  old  reason  to 
fear  his  wild  and  riotous  habits.  He  did  not  heed  them. 
Through  that  dim  conflict  between  darkness  and  day, 
which  is  ever  waged  silently  over  our  sleep.  Lord  George 
strode  on  in  the  deep  absorption  of  his  love  and  of  his 
i6 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

despair.  At  dawn  he  found  himself  on  the  outskirts  of  a 
little  wood  in  Kensington.  A  rabbit  rushed  past  him 
through  the  dew.  Birds  were  fluttering  in  the  branches. 
The  leaves  were  tremulous  with  the  presage  of  day,  and 
the  air  was  full  of  the  sweet  scent  of  hyacinths. 

How  cool  the  country  was!  It  seemed  to  cure  the 
feverish  maladies  of  his  soul  and  consecrate  his  love.  In 
the  fair  light  of  the  dawn  he  began  to  shape  the  means 
of  winning  Jenny  Mere,  that  he  had  conceived  in  the 
desperate  hours  of  the  night.  Soon  an  old  woodman 
passed  by,  and,  with  rough  courtesy,  showed  him  the 
path  that  would  lead  him  quickest  to  the  town.  He  was 
loth  to  leave  the  wood.  With  Jenny,  he  thought,  he 
would  live  always  in  the  countr)\  And  he  picked  a 
posy  of  wild  flowers  for  her. 

His  rentr'ee  into  the  still  silent  town  strengthened  his 
Arcadian  resolves.  He,  who  had  seen  the  town  so  often 
in  its  hours  of  sleep,  had  never  noticed  how  sinister  its 
whole  aspect  was.  In  its  narrow  streets  the  white  houses 
rose  on  either  side  of  him  like  cliffs  of  chalk.  He  hurried 
swiftly  along  the  unswept  pavement.  How  had  he 
loved  this  city  of  evil  secrets? 

At  last  he  came  to  St.  James's  Square,  to  the  hateful 
17 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

door  of  his  own  house.  Shadows  lay  hke  memories  in 
every  corner  of  the  dim  haU,  Through  the  window  of 
his  room,  a  sunbeam  slanted  across  his  smooth,  white 
bed,  and  fell  ghastly  on  the  ashen  grate. 

It  was  a  bright  morning  in  Old  Bond  Street,  and  fat 
little  Mr.  Aeneas,  the  fashionable  mask-maker,  was  sun- 
ning himself  at  the  door  of  his  shop.  His  window  was 
lined  as  usual  with  all  kinds  of  masks — beautiful  masks 
with  pink  cheeks,  and  absurd  masks  with  protuberant 
chins;  curious  nQOOana  copied  from  old  tragic  models; 
masks  of  paper  for  children,  of  fine  silk  for  ladies,  and  of 
leather  for  working  men;  bearded  or  beardless,  gilded  or 
waxen  (most  of  them,  indeed,  were  waxen),  big  or 
Httle  masks.  And  in  the  middle  of  this  vain  galaxy  hung 
the  presentment  of  a  Cyclops'  face,  carved  cunningly  of 
gold,  with  a  great  sapphire  in  its  brow. 

The  sun  gleamed  brightly  on  the  window  and  on  the 
bald  head  and  varnished  shoes  of  fat  little  Mr.  Aeneas. 
It  was  too  early  for  any  customers  to  come  and  Mr. 
Aeneas  seemed  to  be  greatly  enjoying  his  leisure  in  the 
fresh  air.  He  smiled  complacently  as  he  stood  there, 
and  well  he  might,  for  he  was  a  great  artist,  and  was 
i8 


THE   HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

patronized  by  several  crowned  heads  and  not  a  few  of 
the  nobility.  Only  the  evening  before,  Mr.  Brummell 
had  come  into  his  shop  and  ordered  a  light  summer  mask, 
wishing  to  evade  for  a  time  the  jealous  vigilance  of  Lady 
Otterton.  It  pleased  Mr.  Aeneas  to  think  that  his  art 
made  him  the  recipient  of  so  many  high  secrets.  He 
smiled  as  he  thought  of  the  titled  spendthrifts,  who,  at 
this  moment,  pcrdus  behind  his  masterpieces,  passed  un- 
scathed among  their  creditors.  He  was  the  secular  con- 
fessor of  his  day,  always  able  to  give  absolution.  An 
unique  position  ! 

The  street  was  as  quiet  as  a  village  street.  At  an 
open  window  over  the  way,  a  handsome  lady,  wrapped 
in  a  muslin  peignoir,  sat  sipping  her  cup  of  chocolate.  It 
was  La  Signora  Gambogi,  and  Mr.  Aeneas  made  her 
many  elaborate  bows.  This  morning,  however,  her 
thoughts  seemed  far  away,  and  she  did  not  notice  the 
little  man's  polite  efforts.  Nettled  at  her  negligence, 
Mr.  Aeneas  was  on  the  point  of  retiring  into  his  shop, 
when  he  saw  Lord  George  Hell  hastening  up  the  street, 
with  a  posy  of  wild  ftowers  in  his  hand. 

"His  lordship  is  up  betimes!"  he  said  to  himself.    **An 
early  visit  to  La  Signora,  I  suppose." 
19 


THE   HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

Not  SO,  however.  His  lordship  came  straight  towards 
the  mask-shop.  Once  he  glanced  up  at  the  Signora's 
window  and  looked  deeply  annoyed  when  he  saw  her 
sitting  there.      He  came  quickly  into  the  shop. 

*'I  want  the  mask  of  a  saint,"  he  said. 

"Mask  of  a  saint,  my  lord?     Certainly!"    said    Mr. 
Aeneas,  briskly.      "With  or  without   halo?     His    Grace 
the  Bishop  of  St.  Aldreds  always  wears   his  with  a  halo. 
Your  lordship  does  not  wish   for  a  halo?     Certainly!      If 
your  lordship  will  allow  me  to  take  his  measurement " 

**I  must  have  the  mask  today,"  Lord  George  said. 
"Have  you  none  ready-made?" 

"Ah,  I  see.  Required  for  immediate  wear,"  mur- 
mured Mr.  Aeneas,  dubiously.  "You  see,  your  lord- 
ship takes  a  rather  large  size."  And  he  looked  at  the 
floor. 

"Julius!"  he  cried  suddenly  to  his  assistant,  who  was 
putting  the  finishing  touches  to  a  mask  of  Barbarossa 
which  the  young  king  of  Ziirremburg  was  to  w^ear  at  his 
coronation  the  following  week.  "Juhus!  Do  you  re- 
member the  saint's  mask  w^e  made  for  Mr.  Ripsby,  a 
couple  of  years  ago?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy.      *'It's  stored  upstairs." 
20 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

*'I  thought  so,"  replied  Mr.  Aeneas.  "Mr.  Ripsby 
only  had  it  on  hire."  Step  upstairs  Julius  and  bring  it 
down.  I  fancy  it  is  just  what  your  lordship  would  wish. 
Spiritual,  yet  handsome." 

"Is  it  a  mask  that  is  even  as  a  mirror  of  true  love?" 
Lord  George  asked,  gravely. 

"It  was  made  precisely  as  such,"  the  m.ask-maker 
answered.  **In  fact  it  was  made  for  Mr,  Ripsby  to 
wear  at  his  silver  wedding,  and  was  very  highly  praised 
by  the  relatives  of  Mrs.  Ripsby.  Will  your  lordship 
step  into  my  httle  room?" 

So  Mr.  Aeneas  led  the  way  to  his  parlour  behind  the 
shop.  He  was  elated  by  the  distinguished  acquisition  to 
his  clientele,  for  hitherto  Lord  George  had  never  patron- 
ised his  business.  He  bustled  round  his  parlour  and  in- 
sisted that  his  lordship  should  take  a  chair  and  a  pinch 
from  his  snufF-box,  while  the  saint's  mask  was  being 
found. 

Lord  George's  eye  travelled  along  the  rows  of  framed 
letters  from  great  personages,  which  lined  the  walls.  He 
did  not  see  them  though,  for  he  was  calculating  the 
chances  that  La  Gambogi  had  not  observed  him,  as  he 
entered  the  mask-shop.  He  had  come  down  so  early 
z\ 

4 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 


that  he  had  thought  she  would  be  still  abed.  That  sin- 
ister old  proverb.  La  jalouse  se  leve  de  bonne  heure,  rose 
in  his  memory.  His  eye  fell  unconsciously  on  a  large, 
round  mask  made  of  dull  silver,  with  the  features  of  a 
human  face  traced  over  its  surface  in  faint  filigree. 

*'Your  lordship  wonders  what  mask  that  is!"  chirped 
Mr.  Aeneas,  tapping  the  thing  with  one  of  his  little 
finger  nails. 

"What  is  that  mask?"  Lord  George  murmured,  ab- 
sently. 

**I  ought  not  to  divulge,  my  lord,"  said  the  mask- 
maker.  "But  I  know  your  lordship  would  respect  a 
professional  secret,  a  secret  of  which  I  am  pardonable 
proud.  This,"  he  said,  "is  a  mask  for  the  sun-god, 
Apollo,  whom  heaven  bless!" 

**You  astound  me,"  said  Lord  George. 

**Of  no  less  a  person,  I  do  assure  you.  When  Jupi- 
ter, his  father,  made  him  lord  of  the  day,  Apollo  craved 
that  he  might  sometimes  see  the  doings  of  mankind  in 
the  hours  of  night  time.  Jupiter  granted  so  reasonable  a 
request,  and  when  next  Apollo  had  passed  over  the  sky 
and  hidden  in  the  sea,  and  darkness  had  fallen  on  all  the 
world,  he  raised  his  head  above  the  waters  that  he  might 
22 


THE  HAPPY   HYPOCRITE 

watch  the  doings  of  mankind  in  the  hours  of  night  time. 
But,"  Mr.  Aeneas  added,  with  a  smile,  "his  bright 
countenance  made  hght  all  the  darkness.  Men  rose  from 
their  couches  or  from  their  revels,  wondering  that  day 
was  so  soon  come,  and  went  to  their  work.  And 
Apollo  sank  weeping  into  the  sea.  'Surely,'  he  cried, 
'it  is  a  bitter  thing  that  I  alone,  of  all  the  gods,  may  not 
watch  the  world  in  the  hours  of  night  time.  For  in 
those  hours,  as  I  am  told,  men  are  even  as  gods  are. 
They  spill  the  wine  and  are  wreathed  with  roses.  Their 
daughters  dance  in  the  light  of  torches.  They  laugh  to 
the  sound  of  flutes.  On  their  long  couches  they  he 
down  at  last  and  sleep  comes  to  kiss  their  eyehds.  None 
of  these  things  may  I  see.  Wherefore  the  brightness  of 
my  beauty  is  even  as  a  curse  to  me  and  I  would  put  it 
from  me.*  And  as  he  wept,  Vulcan  said  to  him,  *I  am 
not  the  least  cunning  of  the  gods,  nor  the  least  pitiful. 
Do  not  weep,  for  I  will  give  you  that  which  shall  end 
your  sorrow.  Nor  need  you  put  from  you  the  brightness 
of  your  beauty.*  And  Vulcan  made  a  mask  of  dull  silver 
and  fastened  it  across  his  brother's  face.  And  that  night, 
thus  masked,  the  sun-god  rose  from  the  sea  and  watched 
the  doings  of  mankind  in  the  night  time.  Nor  any 
23 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

longer  were  men  abashed  by  his  bright  beauty,  for  it  was 
hidden  by  the  mask  of  silver.  Those  whom  he  had  so 
often  seen  haggard  over  their  daily  tasks,  he  saw  feasting 
now  and  wreathed  with  red  roses.  He  heard  them 
laugh  to  the  sound  of  flutes,  as  their  daughters  danced  in 
the  red  light  of  torches.  And  when  at  length  they  lay 
down  upon  their  soft  couches  and  sleep  kissed  their  eye- 
lids, he  sank  back  into  the  sea  and  hid  his  mask  under  a 
little  rock  in  the  bed  of  the  sea.  Nor  have  men  ever 
known  that  Apollo  watches  them  often  in  the  night  time, 
but  fancied  it  to  be  some  pale  goddess." 

"I  myself  have  always  thought  it  was  Diana,"  said 
Lord  George  Hell. 

"An  error,"  my  lord!  said  Mr.  Aeneas,  with  a  smile. 
"Ecce  signumr^      And  he  tapped  the  mask  of  dull  silver. 

"Strange!"  said  his  lordship.  "And  pray  how  comes 
it  that  Apollo  has  ordered  oi you  this  new  mask?" 

"He  has  always  worn  twelve  new  masks  every  year, 
inasmuch  as  no  mask  can  endure  for  many  nights  the 
near  brightness  of  his  face,  before  which  even  a  mask  of 
the  best  and  purest  silver  soon  tarnishes,  and  wears  away. 
Centuries  ago,  Vulcan  tired  of  making  so  very  many 
masks.  And  so  Apollo  sent  Mercury  down  to  Athens, 
24 


THE   HAPPY   HYPOCRITE 


to  the  shop  of  Phoron,  a  Phoenician  mask-maker  of  great 
skill.  Phoron  made  Apollo's  masks  for  many  years,  and 
every  month  Mercury  came  to  his  shop  for  a  new  one. 
When  Phoron  died,  another  artist  was  chosen,  and,  when 
he  died,  another,  and  so  on  through  all  the  ages  of  the 
world.  Conceive,  my  lord,  my  pride  and  pleasure  when 
Mercury  flew  into  my  shop,  one  night  last  year,  and 
made  me  Apollo's  warrant-holder.  It  is  the  highest 
privilege  that  any  mask-maker  can  desire.  And  when  I 
die,"  said  Mr.  Aeneas,  with  some  emotion,  "Mercury 
will  confer  my  post  upon  another." 

"And  do  they  pay  you  for  your  labour?"  Lord  George 
asked. 

Mr.  Aeneas  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  such  as 
it  was.  "In  Olympus,  my  lord,"  he  said,  "they  have 
no  currency.  For  any  mask-maker,  so  high  a  privilege 
is  its  own  reward.  Yet  the  sun-god  is  generous.  He 
shines  more  brightly  into  my  shop  than  into  any  other. 
Nor  does  he  suffer  his  rays  to  melt  any  waxen  mask 
made  by  me,  until  its  wearer  doff  it  and  it  be  done  with." 
At  this  moment  Julius  came  in  with  the  Ripsby  mask. 
**I  must  ask  your  lordship's  pardon,  for  having  kept  you 
so  long,"  pleaded   Mr.  Aeneas.      "But   I  have  a  large 

25 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

Store  of  old  masks  and  they  are  imperfectly  catalogued.** 

It  certainly  was  a  beautiful  mask,  with  its  smooth,  pink 
cheeks  and  devotional  brows.  It  was  made  of  the  finest 
wax.  Lord  George  took  it  gingerly  in  his  hands  and 
tried  it  on  his  face.     It  fitted  a  merveille. 

"Is  the  expression  exactly  as  your  lordship  would 
wish?"  asked  Mr.  Aeneas. 

Lord  George  laid  it  on  the  table  and  studied  it  in- 
tently. "I  wish  it  were  more  as  a  perfect  mirror  of  true 
love,"  he  said  at  length.  "It  is  too  calm,  too  contem- 
plative. ' ' 

"Easily  remedied!"  said  Mr.  Aeneas.  Selecting  a 
fine  pencil,  he  deftly  drew  the  eyebrows  closer  to  each 
other.  With  a  brush  steeped  in  some  scarlet  pigment, 
he  put  a  fuller  curve  upon  the  lips.  And,  behold!  it  was 
the  mask  of  a  saint  who  loves  dearly.  Lord  George's 
heart  throbbed  with  pleasure. 

"And  for  how  long  does  your  lordship  wish  to  wear 
it?"  asked  Mr.  Aeneas. 

"I  must  wear  it  until  I  die,"  repHed  Lord  George. 

"Kindly  be  seated  then,  I  pray,"  rejoined  the  little 
man.  **For  I  must  apply  the  mask  with  great  care. 
Julius,  you  will  assist  me!" 

26 


THE   HAPPY   HYPOCRITE 

So,  while  Julius  heated  the  inner  side  ot  the  waxen 
mask  over  a  little  lamp,  Mr.  Aeneas  stood  over  Lord 
George  gently  smearing  his  features  with  some  sweet- 
scented  pomade.  Then  he  took  the  mask  and  powdered 
its  inner  side,  quite  soft  and  warm  now,  with  a  fluffy 
puff.  "Keep  quite  still,  for  one  instant,"  he  said,  and 
clapped  the  mask  firmly  on  his  lordship's  upturned  face. 
So  soon  as  he  was  sure  of  its  perfect  adhesion,  he  took 
from  his  assistant's  hand  a  silver  file  and  a  httle  wooden 
spatula,  with  which  he  proceeded  to  pare  down  the  edge 
of  the  mask,  where  it  joined  the  neck  and  ears.  At 
length,  all  traces  of  the  "join"  were  obliterated.  It  re- 
mained  only  to  arrange  the  curls  of  the  lordly  wig  over 
the  waxen  brow. 

The  disguise  was  done.  When  Lord  George  looked 
through  the  eyelets  of  his  mask  into  the  mirror  that  was 
placed  in  his  hand,  he  saw  a  face  that  was  saintly,  itself 
a  mirror  of  true  love.  How  wonderful  it  was!  He  felt 
his  past  was  a  dream.  He  felt  he  was  a  new  man  in- 
deed. His  voice  went  strangely  through  the  mask's 
parted  lips,  as  he  thanked  Mr.  Aeneas. 

"Proud  to  have  served  your  lordship,"  said  that  little 
wortliy,  pocketing  his  fee  of  fifty  guineas,  while  he 
27 


THE   HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

bowed  his  customer  out. 

When  he  reached  the  street,  Lord  George  nearly- 
uttered  a  curse  through  those  sainted  lips  of  his.  For 
there,  right  in  his  way,  stood  La  Gambogi,  with  a  small, 
pink  parasol.  She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  sleeve  and 
called  him  softly  by  his  name.  He  passed  her  by  with- 
out a  word.      Again  she  confronted  him. 

"I  cannot  let  go  so  handsome  a  lover,"  she  laughed, 
"even  though  he  spurn  me!  Do  not  spurn  me,  George. 
Give  me  your  posy  of  wild  flowers.  Why,  you  never 
looked  so  lovingly  at  me  in  all  your  life!" 

**Madam,"  said  Lord  George,  sternly,  "  I  have  not 
the  honour  to  know  you."      And  he  passed  on. 

The  lady  gazed  after  her  lost  lover  with  the  blackest 
hatred  in  her  eyes.  Presently  she  beckoned  across  the 
road  to  a  certain  spy. 

And  the  spy  followed  him. 

Lord  George,  greatly  agitated,  had  turned  into  Picca- 
dilly. It  was  horrible  to  have  met  this  garish  embodi- 
ment of  his  past  on  the  very  threshold  of  his  fair  future. 
The  mask-maker's  elevating  talk  about  the  gods,  followed 
by  the  initiative  ceremony  of  his  saintly  mask,  had  driven 
28 


THE   HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

all  discordant  memories  from  his  love-thoughts  of  Jenny 
Mere.  And  then  to  be  met  by  La  Gambogi!  It  might 
be  that,  after  his  stern  words,  she  would  not  seek  to  cross 
his  path  again.  Surely  she  would  not  seek  to  mar  his 
sacred  love.  Yet,  he  knew  her  dark,  Italian  nature,  her 
passion  of  revenge.  What  was  the  line  in  Virgil?  Spre- 
taeque — something.  Who  knew  but  that  somehow, 
sooner  or  later,  she  might  come  between  him  and  his 
love? 

He  was  about  to  pass  Lord  Barrymore's  mansion. 
Count  KarolofF  and  Mr.  FitzClarence  were  lounging  in 
one  of  the  lower  windows.  Would  they  know  him 
under  his  mask?  Thank  God!  they  did  not.  They 
merely  laughed  as  he  went  by,  and  Mr.  FitzClarence 
cried  in  a  mocking  voice,  *'Sing  us  a  hymn,  Mr.  What- 
ever-your-saint's-name-is!"  The  mask,  then,  at  least, 
was  perfect.  Jenny  Mere  would  not  know  him.  He 
need  fear  no  one  but  La  Gambogi.  But  would  not  she 
betray  his  secret?     He  sighed. 

That  night  he  was  going  to  visit  Garble' s  and  to  de- 
clare his  love  to  the  little  actress.  He  never  doubted 
that  she  would  love  him  for  his  saintly  face.  Had  she 
not  said,  *'That  man  whose  face  is  wonderful   as  are  the 

29 
s 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

•faces  of  the  saints,  to  him  I  will  give  my  true  love' '  ?  She 
could  not  say  now  that  his  face  was  as  a  tarnished  mirror 
of  love.  She  would  smile  on  him.  She  would  be  his 
bride.      But  would  La  Gambogi  be  at  Garble's? 

The  operette  would  not  be  over  before  ten  that  night. 
The  clock  in  Hyde  Park  Gate  told  him  it  was  not  yet 
ten — ten  of  the  morning.  Twelve  whole  hours  to  wait, 
before  he  could  fall  at  Jenny's  feet!  "I  cannot  spend 
that  time  in  this  place  of  memories,"  he  thought.  So  he 
hailed  a  yellow  cabriolet  and  bade  the  jarvey  drive  him 
out  to  the  village  of  Kensington. 

When  they  came  to  the  little  wood  where  he  had  been 
but  a  few  hours  ago.  Lord  George  dismissed  the  jarvey. 
The  sun,  that  had  risen  as  he  stood  there  thinking  of 
Jenny,  shone  down  on  his  altered  face,  but,  though  it 
shone  very  fiercely,  it  did  not  melt  his  waxen  features. 
The  old  woodman,  who  had  shown  him  his  way,  passed 
by  under  a  load  of  faggots  and  did  not  know  him.  He 
wandered  among  the  trees.      It  was  a  lovely  wood. 

Presently  he  came  to  the  bank  of  that  tiny  stream,  the 

Ken,  which  still   flowed    there  in  those    days.      On  the 

moss  of  its  bank  he  lay  down  and  let  its  water  ripple  over 

his  hand.      Some  bright  pebble  glistened   under  the  sur- 

3° 


THE    HAPPY   HYPOCRITE 

face,  and,  as  he  peered  down  at  it,  he  saw  in  the  stream 
the  reflection  of  his  mask.  A  great  shame  filled  him  that 
he  should  so  cheat  the  girl  he  loved.  Behind  that  fair 
mask  there  would  still  be  the  evil  face  that  had  repelled 
her.  Could  he  be  so  base  as  to  decoy  her  into  love  of 
that  most  ingenious  deception?  He  was  filled  with  a 
great  pity  for  her,  with  a  hatred  of  himself.  And  yet, 
he  argued,  was  the  mask  indeed  a  mean  trick?  Surely  it 
was  a  secret  symbol  of  his  true  repentance  and  of  his  true 
love.  His  face  was  evil,  because  his  life  had  been  evil. 
He  had  seen  a  gracious  girl,  and  of  a  sudden  his  very 
soul  had  changed.  His  face  alone  was  the  same  as  it 
had  been.  It  was  not  just  that  his  face  should  be  evil 
still. 

There  was  the  faint  sound  of  some  one  sighing.  Lord 
George  looked  up,  and  there,  on  the  further  bank,  stood 
Jenny  Mere,  watching  him.  As  their  eyes  met,  she 
blushed  and  hung  her  head.  She  looked  like  nothing  but 
a  tall  child,  as  she  stood  there,  with  her  straight,  limp 
frock  of  lilac  cotton  and  her  sunburnt  straw  bonnet.  He 
dared  not  speak;  he  could  only  gaze  at  her.  Suddenly 
there  perched  astride  the  bough  of  a  tree,  at  her  side,  that 
winged  and  laughing  child,  in  whose  hand  was  a  bow. 
31 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

Before  Lord  George  could  warn  her,  an  arrow  had 
flashed  down  and  vanished  in  her  heart,  and  Cupid  had 
flown  away. 

No  cry  of  pain  did  she  utter,  but  stretched  out  her  arms 
to  her  lover,  with  a  glad  smile.  He  leapt  quite  lightly 
over  the  little  stream  and  knelt  at  her  feet.  It  seemed 
more  fitting  that  he  should  kneel  before  the  gracious  thing 
he  was  unworthy  of.  But  she,  knowing  only  that  his  face 
was  as  the  face  of  a  great  saint,  bent  over  him  and  touched 
him  with  her  hand. 

**  Surely,"  she  said,  **  you  are  that  good  man  for  whom 
I  have  waited.  Therefore  do  not  kneel  to  me,  but  rise 
and  suffer  me  to  kiss  your  hand.  For  my  love  of  you  is 
lowly,  and  my  heart  is  all  yours." 

But  he  answered,  looking  up  into  her  fond  eyes,  "Nay, 
you  are  a  queen,  and  I  must  needs  kneel  in  your  pres- 
ence." 

And  she  shook  her  head  wistfially,  and  she  knelt  down, 
also,  in  her  tremulous  ecstasy,  before  him.  And  as  they 
knelt,  the  one  to  the  other,  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes, 
and  he  kissed  her.  Though  the  lips  that  he  pressed  to 
her  lips  were  only  waxen,  he  thrilled  with  happiness,  in 
that  mimic  kiss.  He  held  her  close  to  him  in  his  arms, 
32 


THE   HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

and  they  were  silent  in  the  sacredness  of  their  love. 

From  his  breast  he  took  the  posy  of  wild  flowers  that 
he  had  gathered. 

"  They  are  for  you,"  he  whispered,  *•  I  gathered  them 
for  you,  hours  ago,  in  this  wood.  See  !  They  are  not 
withered." 

But  she  was  perplexed  by  his  words  and  said  to  him, 
blushing,  *•  How  was  it  for  me  that  you  gathered  them, 
though  you  had  never  seen  me  ?' ' 

**  I  gathered  them  for  you,"  he  answered,  "knowing 
I  should  soon  see  you.  How  was  it  that  you,  who  had 
never  seen  me,  yet  waited  for  me  ?  " 

*•  I  waited,  knowing  I  should  see  you  at  last."  And 
she  kissed  the  posy  and  put  it  at  her  breast. 

And  they  rose  from  their  knees  and  went  into  the  wood, 
walking  hand  in  hand.  As  they  went,  he  asked  the  names 
of  the  flowers  that  grew  under  their  feet.  **  These  are 
primroses,"  she  would  say.  "Did  you  not  know  ?  And 
these  are  ladies'  feet,  and  these  forget-me-nots.  And  that 
white  flower,  climbing  up  the  trunks  of  the  trees  and  trail- 
ing down  so  prettily  from  the  branches,  is  called  Astyanax. 
These  little  yellow  things  are  buttercups.  Did  you  not 
know  ?"       And  she  laughed. 

33 


THE   HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

**  I  know  the  names  of  none  of  the  flowers,"  he  said. 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  and  said  timidly,  "Is  it 
worldly  and  wrong  of  me  to  have  loved  the  flowers  ? 
Ought  I  to  have  thought  more  of  those  higher  things  that 
are  unseen  ? ' ' 

His  heart  smote  him.  He  could  not  answer  her  sim- 
plicity. 

"  Surely  the  flowers  are  good,  and  did  not  you  gather 
this  posy  for  me  ?"  she  pleaded.  "But  if  you  do  not 
love  them,  I  must  not.  And  I  will  try  to  forget  their 
names.      For  I  must  try  to  be  like  you  in  all  things." 

"  Love  the  flowers  always,"  he  said.  "And  teach 
me  to  love  them." 

So  she  told  him  all  about  the  flowers,  how  some  grew 
very  slowly  and  others  bloomed  in  a  night  ;  how  clever 
the  convolvulus  was  at  climbing,  and  how  shy  violets  were, 
and  why  honeycups  had  folded  petals.  She  told  him  of 
the  birds,  too,  that  sang  in  the  wood,  how  she  knew  them 
all  by  their  voices.  "  That  is  a  chaffinch  singing.  Lis- 
ten !  "  she  said.  And  she  tried  to  imitate  its  note,  that 
her  lover  might  remember.  All  the  birds,  according  to 
her,  were  good,  except  the  cuckoo,  and  whenever  she 
heard  him  sing  she  would  stop  her  ears,  lest  she  should 
34 


THE   HAPPY    HYPOCRITE 


forgive  him  for  robbing  the  nests.  "  Every  day,"  slie 
said,  "  I  have  come  to  the  wood,  because  I  was  lonely, 
and  it  seemed  to  pity  me.  But  now  I  have  you.  And 
it  IS  glad." 

She  clung  closer  to  his  arm,  and  he  kissed  her.  She 
pushed  back  her  straw  bonnet,  so  that  it  dangled  from  her 
neck  by  its  ribands,  and  laid  her  little  head  against  his 
shoulder.  For  a  while  he  forgot  his  treachery  to  her, 
thinking  only  of  his  love  and  her  love.  Suddenly  she  said 
to  him,  *'  Will  you  try  not  to  be  angry  with  me,  if  I  tell 
you  something  ?  It  is  something  that  will  seem  dreadful 
to  you." 

"  Pauvrette,^^  he  answered,  "you  cannot  have  any- 
thing very  dreadful  to  tell." 

**  I  am  very  poor,"  she  said,  *'  and  every  night  I  dance 
in  a  theatre.  It  is  the  only  thing  I  can  do  to  earn  my 
bread.  Do  you  despise  me  because  I  dance.'"  She 
looked  up  shyly  at  him  and  saw  that  his  face  was  full  of 
love  for  her  and  not  angry. 

"  Do  you  like  dancing  .?  "  he  asked. 

*•  I  hate  it,  "  she  answered,  quickly.  **  I  hate  it  in- 
deed. Yet — to-night,  alas  !  I  must  dance  again  in  the 
theatre." 

35 


THE    HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

"You  need  never  dance  again,"  said  her  jover.  "I 
am  rich  and  I  will  pay  them  to  release  you.  You  shall 
dance  only  for  me.  Sweetheart,  it  cannot  be  much  more 
than  noon.  Let  us  go  into  the  town,  while  there  is  time, 
and  you  shall  be  made  my  bride,  and  I  your  bridegroom, 
this  very  day.      Why  should  you  and  I  be  lonely  ?  " 

'•  I  do  not  know,"  she  said. 

So  they  walked  back  through  the  wood,  taking  a  narrow 
path  which  Jenny  said  would  lead  them  quickest  to  the 
village.  And,  as  they  went,  they  came  to  a  tiny  cottage, 
with  a  garden  that  was  full  of  flowers.  The  old  wood- 
man was  leaning  over  its  paling,  and  he  nodded  to  them 
as  they  passed. 

"I  often  used  to  envy  the  woodman,"  said  Jenny, 
*' living  in  that  dear  little  cottage." 

** Let  us  live  there,  then,"  said  Lord  George.  And 
he  went  back  and  asked  the  old  man  if  he  were  not  un- 
happy, living  there  alone. 

**  *Tis  a  poor  life  here  for  me,"  the  old  man  answer- 
ed. **No  folk  come  to  the  wood,  except  litde  children, 
now  and  again,  to  play,  or  lovers  like  you.  But  they 
seldom  notice  me.  And  in  winter  I  am  alone  with  Jack 
Frost!  Old  men  love  merrier  company  than  that.  Oh! 
36 


THE   HAPPY   HYPOCRITE 


I  shall  die  in  the  snow  with  my  faggots  on  my  back.     A 
poor  life  here!" 

"I  will  give  you  gold  for  your  cottage  and  whatever  is 
in  it,  and  then  you  can  go  and  live  happily  in  the  town," 
Lord  George  said.  And  he  took  from  his  coat  a  note  for 
two  hundred  guineas,  and  held  it  across  the  palings. 

**  Lovers  are  poor,  foolish  derry-docks,"  the  old  man 
muttered.  "But  I  thank  you  kindly,  sir.  This  little 
sum  will  keep  me  cosy,  as  long  as  I  last.  Come  into  the 
cottage  as  soon  as  can  be.  It's  a  lonely  place  and  does 
my  heart  good  to  depart  from  it." 

"We  are  going  to  be  married  this  afternoon,  in  the 
town,"  said  Lord  George.  "We  will  come  straight 
back  to  our  home." 

"May  you  be  happy!"  replied  the  woodman.  "You'll 
find  me  gone  when  you  come." 

And  the  lovers  thanked  him  and  went  their  way. 

"Are  you  very  rich?"  Jenny  asked.  "Ought  you  to 
have  bought  the  cottage  for  that  great  price?" 

"Would  you  love  me  as  much  if  I  were  quite  poor, 
little  Jenny?"  he  asked  her  after  a  pause. 

"I   did   not   know   you   were  rich  when  I  saw  you 
across  the  stream,"  she  said. 
37 

6 


THE  HAPPY   HYPOCRITE 


And  in  his  heart  Lord  George  made  a  good  resolve. 
He  wouJd  put  away  from  him  all  his  worldly  possessions. 
All  the  money  that  he  had  won  at  the  clubs,  fairly  or 
foully,  all  that  hideous  accretion  of  gold  guineas,  he  would 
distribute  among  the  comrades  he  had  impoverished.  As 
he  walked,  with  the  sweet  and  trustful  girl  at  his  side, 
the  vague  record  of  his  infamy  assailed  him,  and  a  look  of 
pain  shot  behind  his  smooth  mask.  He  would  atone.  He 
would  shun  no  sacrifice  that  might  cleanse  his  soul.  All 
his  fortune  he  would  put  from  him.  Follard  Chase  he 
would  give  back  to  Sir  Follard.  He  would  sell  his  house 
in  St.  James's  Square.  He  would  keep  some  little  part 
of  his  patrimony,  enough  for  him  in  the  wood,  with 
Jenny,  but  no  more. 

"1  shall  be  quite  poor,  Jenny,"  he  said. 

And  they  talked  of  the  things  that  lovers  love  to  talk 
of,  how  happy  they  would  be  together  and  how  econo- 
mical. As  they  were  passing  Herbert's  pastry  shop, 
which  as  my  little  readers  know,  still  stands  in  Kensing- 
ton, Jenny  looked  up  rather  wistfully  into  her  lover's 
ascetic  face. 

"  Should  you  think  me  greedy,"    she  asked  him,    "if 
I  wanted  a  bun?     They  have  beautiful  buns  here!" 
38 


THE    HAPPY   HYPOCRITE 


Buns!  The  simple  word  started  latent  memories  of 
his  childhood.  Jenny  was  only  a  child,  after  all.  Buns! 
He  had  forgotten  what  they  were  like.  And  as  they 
looked  at  the  piles  of  variegated  cakes  in  the  window,  he 
said  to  her,  "Which  are  buns,  Jenny.''  I  should  like  to 
have  one,  too." 

♦•I  am  almost  afraid  of  you,"  she  said.  "You  must 
despise  me  so.  Are  you  so  good  that  you  deny  yourself 
all  the  vanity  and  pleasure  that  most  people  love  ?  It  is 
wonderful  not  to  know  what  buns  are!  The  round, 
brown,  shiny  cakes,  with  little  raisins  in  them,  are  buns." 

So  he  bought  two  beautiful  buns,  and  they  sat  together 
in  the  shop,  eating  them.  Jenny  bit  hers  rather  diffident- 
ly, but  was  reassured  when  he  said  that  they  must  have 
buns  very  often  in  the  cottage.  Yes!  he,  the  famous 
toper  and  gourmet  of  St.  James's,  relished  this  homely 
fare,  as  it  passed  through  the  insensible  lips  of  his  mask  to 
his  palate.  He  seemed  to  rise,  from  the  consumption  ot 
his  bun,  a  better  man. 

But  there  was  no  time  to  lose  now.  It  was  already 
past  two  o'clock.  So  he  got  a  chaise  from  the  inn  op- 
posite the  pastry-shop,  and  they  were  swiftly  driven  to 
Doctors'  Commons.  There  he  purchased  a  special 
39 


THE   HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

license.  When  the  clerk  asked  him  to  write  his  name 
upon  it,  he  hesitated.  What  name  should  he  assume? 
Under  a  mask  he  had  wooed  this  girl,  under  an  unreal 
name  he  must  make  her  his  bride.  He  loathed  himself 
for  a  trickster.  He  had  vilely  stolen  from  her  the  love 
she  would  not  give  him.  Even  now,  should  he  not  con- 
fess himself  the  man  whose  face  had  frightened  her,  and 
go  his  way?  And  yet,  surely,  it  was  not  just  that  he, 
whose  soul  was  transfigured,  should  bear  his  old  name. 
Surely  George  Hell  was  dead,  and  his  name  had  died 
with  him.  So  he  dipped  a  pen  in  the  ink  and  wrote 
"George  Heaven,"  for  want  of  a  better  name.  And 
Jenny  wrote  "Jenny  Mere"   beneath  it. 

An  hour  later  they  were  married  according  to  the 
simple  rites  ot  a  dear  little  registry  office  in  Covent 
Garden. 

And  in  the  cool  evening  they  went  home. 

In  the  cottage  that  had  been  the  woodman's  they  had 
a  wonderful  honeymoon.  No  king  and  queen  in  any 
palace  of  gold  were  happier  than  they.  For  them  their 
tiny  cottage  was  a  palace,  and  the  flowers  that  filled  the 
garden  were  their  couriers.  Long  and  careless  and  full 
40 


THE   HAPPY   HYPOCRITE 


of  kisses  were  the  days  of  their  reign. 

Sometimes,  indeed,  strange  dreams  troubled  Lord 
George's  sleep.  Once  he  dreamt  that  he  stood  knocking 
and  knocking  at  the  great  door  of  a  castle.  It  was  a 
bitter  night.  The  frost  enveloped  him.  No  one  came. 
Presently  he  heard  a  footstep  in  the  hall  beyond,  and  a 
pair  of  frightened  eyes  peered  at  him  through  the  grill, 
Jenny  was  scanning  his  face.  She  would  not  open  to 
him.  With  tears  and  wild  words  he  beseeched  her,  but 
she  would  not  open  to  him.  Then,  very  stealthily,  he 
crept  round  the  castle  and  found  a  small  casement  in  the 
wall.  It  was  open.  He  climbed  swiftly,  quietly  through 
it.  In  the  darkness  of  the  room  some  one  ran  to  him  and 
kissed  him  gladly.  It  was  Jenny.  With  a  cry  of  joy 
and  shame  he  awoke.  By  his  side  lay  Jenny,  sleeping 
like  a  little  child. 

After  all,  what  was  a  dream  to  him?  It  could  not  mar 
the  reality  of  his  daily  happiness.  He  cherished  his  true 
penitence  for  the  evil  he  had  done  in  the  past.  The  past! 
That  was  indeed  the  only  unreal  thing  that  lingered  in  his 
life.  Every  day  its  substance  dwindled,  grew  fainter  yet, 
as  he  lived  his  rustic  honeymoon.  Had  he  not  utterly 
put  it  from  him?  Had  he  not,  a  few  hours  after  his 
41 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

marriage,  written  to  his  lawyer,  declaring  solemnly  that 
he.  Lord  George  Hell,  had  forsworn  the  world,  that  he 
was  where  no  man  would  find  him,  that  he  desired  all 
his  worldly  goods  to  be  distributed,  thus  and  thus,  among 
these  and  those  of  his  companions?  By  this  testament  he 
had  verilv  atoned  for  the  wrong  he  had  done,  had  made 
himself  dead  indeed  to  the  world. 

No  address  had  he  written  upon  this  document. 
Though  its  injunctions  were  final  and  binding,  it  could 
betray  no  clue  of  his  hidmg-place.  For  the  rest,  no  one 
would  care  to  seek  him  out.  He,  who  had  done  no 
good  to  human  creature,  would  pass  unmourned  out  of 
memory.  The  clubs,  doubtless,  would  laugh  and  puzzle 
over  his  strange  recantations,  envious  of  whomever  he 
had  enriched.  They  would  say  'twas  a  good  riddance 
of  a  rogue  and  soon  forget  him.*     But  she,  whose  prime 

*  I  would  refer  my  little  readers  once  more  to  the  pages  of  Conttrnparary 
Buds,  where  Captain  Tarleton  speculates  upon  the  sudden  disappearance  of 
Lord  George  Hell  and  describes  its  effect  on  the  town.  "Not  even  the  shrewd- 
est," says  he,  "even  gave  a  guess  that  would  throw  a  ray  of  revealing  light  on 
the  diiparition  of  this  profligate  man.  It  was  supposed  that  he  carried  off  with 
him  a  little  dancer  from  Garble's,  at  which  haunt  cf  pleasantry  he  was  certainly 
on  the  night  he  vanished,  and  whither  the  young  lady  never  returned  again. 
Garble  declared  he  had  been  compensated  for  her  perfidy,  but  that  he  was  sure 
she  had  not  succumbed  to  his  lordship,  having  in  fact  rejected  him  soundly. 
Did  his  lordship,  say  the  cronies,  take  his  life — and  hers?  II  n'y  a  pas  iTeprtuvi. 
42 


THE    HAPPY    HYPOCRITE 

patron  he  had  been,  who  had  loved  him  in  her  vile 
fashion.  La  Gambogi,  would  she  forget  him  easily,  like 
the  rest?  As  the  sweet  days  went  by,  her  spectre,  also, 
grew  fainter  and  less  formidable.  She  knew  his  mask 
indeed,  but  how  should  she  find  him  in  the  cottage  near 
Kensington?  Devia  dulcedo  latebrarum!  He  was  safe 
hidden  with  his  bride.  As  for  the  Italian,  she  might 
search  and  search — or  had  forgotton  him,  in  the  arms  of 
another  lover. 

Yes!  Few  and  faint  became  the  blemishes  of  his 
honeymoon.  At  first,  he  had  felt  that  his  waxcH  mask, 
though  it  had  been  the  means  of  his  happiness,  was  rather 
a  barrier  'twixt  him  and  his  bride.  Though  it  was 
sweet  to  kiss  her  through  it,   to  look  at  her  through  it 

The  mast  aitoniihing  matter  is  that  the  runaway  should  have  written  out  a 
complete  will,  restoring  all  money  he  had  won  at  cards,  etc.  etc.  This  certainly 
corroborates  the  opinion  that  he  was  seized  with  a  sudden  repentance  and  fled 
over  the  seas  to  a  foreign  monastery,  where  he  died  at  last  in  religioui  lilenct. 
That's  as  it  may,  but  many  a  spendthrift  found  his  pocket  clinking  with 
guineas,  a  not  unpleasant  sound,  I  declare.  The  Regent  himself  was  benefitted 
by  the  odd  will,  and  old  Sir  Follard  Follard  found  himself  once  irore  in  the 
ancestral  home  he  had  forfeited.  As  for  Lord  George's  mansion  in  St.  James's 
Square,  that  was  sold  with  all  its  appurtenances,  and  the  money  fetched  by  the 
sale,  no  bagatelle,  was  given  to  various  good  objects,  according  to  my  lord's 
stated  wishes.  Well,  many  of  us  blessed  his  name — we  had  cursed  it  often 
enough.  Peace  to  his  ashes,  in  whatever  urn  they  may  be  resting,  on  the 
billows  of  whatever  ocean  they  floatf" 

43 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

with  loving  eyes,  yet  there  were  times  when  it  incom- 
moded him  with  its  mockery.  Could  he  but  put  it  from 
him!  yet,  that  of  course,  could  not  be.  He  must  wear 
it  all  his  life.  And  so,  as  days  went  by  he  grew  recon- 
ciled to  his  mask.  No  longer  did  he  feel  it  jarring  on  his 
face.  It  seemed  to  become  an  integral  part  of  him,  and, 
for  all  its  rigid  material,  it  did  forsooth  express  the  one 
emotion  that  filled  him,  true  love.  The  face,  for  whose 
sake  Jenny  gave  him  her  heart,  could  not  but  be  dear  to 
this    George    Heaven,   also. 

Every  day  chastened  him  with  its  joy.  They  lived  a 
very  simple  life,  he  and  Jenny.  They  rose  betimes,  like 
the  birds,  for  whose  goodness  they  both  had  so  sincere 
a  love.  Bread  and  honey  and  little  strawberries  were 
their  morning  fare,  and  in  the  evening  they  had  seed 
cake  and  dewberry  wine.  Jenny  herself  made  the  wine, 
and  her  husband  drank  it,  in  strict  moderation,  never  more 
than  two  glasses.  He  thought  it  tasted  far  better  than  the 
Regent's  cherry  brandy,  or  the  Tokay  at  Brooks's.  Of 
these  treasured  topes  he  had,  indeed,  nearly  forgotten  the 
taste.  The  wine  made  from  wild  berries  by  his  little  bride 
was  august  enough  for  his  palate.  Sometimes,  after  they 
had  dined  thus,  he  would  play  the  flute  to  her  upon  the 

44 


THE   HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

moonlit  lawn,  or  tell  her  of  the  great  daisy-chain  he  wac 
going  to  make  for  her  on  the  morrow,  or  sit  silently  by 
her  side,  listening  to  the  nightingale,  till  bedtime.  So 
admirably  simple  were  their  days. 

One  morning,  as  he  was  helping  Jenny  to  water  the 
flowers,  he  said  to  her  suddenly,  ''Sweetheart,  we  had 
forgotten!" 

"What  was  there  we  should  forget?"  asked  Jenny, 
looking  up  from  her  task. 

"'Tis  the  mensiversary  of  our  wedding,"  her  husband 
answered  gravely.  "We  must  not  let  it  pass  without 
some  celebration." 

"No  indeed,"  she  said,  "we  must  not.  What  shall 
we  do?" 

Between  them  they  decided  upon  an  unusual  feast. 
They  would  go  into  the  village  and  buy  a  bag  of  beautifiil 
buns  and  eat  them  in  the  afternoon.  So  soon,  then,  as  all 
the  flowers  were  watered,  they  set  forth  to  Herbert's 
shop,  bought  the  buns  and  returned  home  in  very  high 
spirits,  George  bearing  a  paper  bag  that  held  no  less  than 
twelve  of  the  wholesome  delicacies.  Under  the  plane 
tree    on    the    lawn   Jenny    sat    her    down,  and   George 

45 

T 


THE  HAPPV  HYPOCRITE 


Stretched  himself  at  her  feet.  They  were  loth  to  enjoy 
their  feast  too  soon.  They  dallied  in  childish  anticipation. 
On  the  little  rustic  table  Jenny  built  up  the  buns,  one 
above  another,  till  they  looked  like  a  tall  pagoda.  When, 
very  gingerly,  she  had  crow^ned  the  structure  with  the 
twelfth  bun,  her  husband  looking  on  with  admiration,  she 
clapped  her  hands  and  danced  about  it.  She  laughed  so 
loudly  (for,  though  she  was  only  sixteen  years  old,  she 
had  a  great  sense  of  humour),  that  the  table  shook,  and 
alas!  the  pagoda  tottered  and  fell  to  the  lawn.  Swift  as 
a  kitten,  Jenny  chased  the  buns,  as  they  rolled,  hither  and 
thither,  over  the  grass,  catching  them  deftly  with  her 
hand.  Then  she  came  back,  flushed  and  merry  under 
her  tumbled  hair,  with  her  arm  fiill  of  buns.  She  began 
to  put  them  back  in  the  paper  bag. 

**Dear  husband,"  she  said,  looking  down  to  him, 
**why  do  not  you  smile  too  at  my  folly?  Your  grave 
face  rebukes  me.  Smile,  or  I  shall  think  I  vex  you. 
Please  smile  a  little." 

But  the  mask  could  not  smile,  of  course.      It  was  made 

for  a  mirror  of  true  love,  and  it  was  grave  and  immobile. 

**I  am  very  much  amused,  dear,"  he  said,  **atthefallof 

the  buns,  but  my  lips  will  not  curve  to  a  smile.     Love  of 

46 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

you  has  bound  them  in  spell.  * ' 

*'But  I  can  laugh,  though  I  love  you,  I  do  not 
understand."  And  she  wondered.  He  took  her  hand 
in  his  and  stroked  it  gently,  wishing  it  were  possible  to 
smile.  Some  day,  perhaps,  she  would  tire  of  this  monot- 
onous gravity,  this  rigid  sweetness.  It  was  not  strange 
that  she  should  long  for  a  little  facile  expression.  They 
sat  silently. 

"Jenny,  what  is  it?"  he  whispered  suddenly.  For 
Jenny,  with  wide-open  eyes,  was  gazing  over  his  head, 
across  the  lawn.      **  Why  do  you  look  frightened?" 

**  There  is  a  strange  woman  smiling  at  me  across  the 
palings,"  she  said.      "I  do  not  know  her," 

Her  husband's  heart  sank.  Somehow,  he  dared  not  turn 
his  head  to  the  intruder.      He  dreaded  who  she  might  be. 

"She  is  nodding  to  me,"  said  Jenny.  "I  think  she 
is  foreign,  for  she  has  an  evil  face." 

**  Do  not  notice  her,"  he  whispered.  "Does  she 
look  evil?" 

**Very  evil  and  very  dark.  She  has  a  pink  parasol. 
Her  teeth  are  like  ivory." 

"  Do  not  notice  her.  Think!  It  is  the  mensiversary 
of  our  wedding,  dear!" 

47 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

**  I  wish  she  would  not  smile  at  me.  Her  eyes  arc 
like  bright  blots  of  ink." 

**  Let  us  eat  our  beautiful  buns  !  " 

"  Oh,  she  is  coming  in  1"  George  heard  the  latch  of 
the  gate  jar.  *' Forbid  her  to  come  in!"  whispered 
Jenny,  *'  I  am  afraid  !  "  He  heard  the  jar  of  heels  on 
the  gravel  path.  Yet  he  dared  not  turn.  Only  he  clasped 
Jenny's  hand  more  tightly,  as  he  waited  for  the  voice. 
It  was  La  Gambogi's. 

*'  Pray,  pray,  pardon  me  !  I  could  not  mistake  the 
back  of  so  old  a  friend." 

With  the  courage  of  despair,  George  turned  and  faced 
the  woman. 

"Even,"  she  smiled,  "though  his  face  has  changed  mar- 
vellously." 

**  Madam,"  he  said,  rising  to  his  fiill  height  and  step- 
ping between  her  and  his  bride,  **  begone,  I  conmiand 
you,  from  this  garden.  I  do  not  see  what  good  is  to  be 
served  by  the  renewal  of  our  acquaintance." 

**  Acquaintance  1"  murmured  La  Gambogi,  with  an 
arch  of  her  beetle-brows.  "Surely  we  were  friends, 
rather,  nor  is  my  esteem  for  you  so  dead  that  I  would 
crave  estrangement." 

48 


THE    HAPPY    HYPOCRITE 

**  Madam,"  rejoined  Lord  George,  with  a  tremor  in 
his  voice,  "you  see  me  happy,  living  very  peacefully  with 
my  bride " 

"To  whom,  I  beseech  vou,  old  friend,  present  me." 

"I  would  not,"  he  said  hotlv,  "desecrate  her  sweet 
name  by  speaking  it  with  so  infamous  a  name  as  yours." 

"  Your  choler  hurts  me,  old  friend,"  said  La  Gambogi, 
sinking  composedly  upon  the  garden-seat  and  smoothing 
the  silk  of  her  skirts. 

"Jenny,"  said  George,  "then  do  you  retire,  pending 
this  lady's  departure,  to  the  cottage."  But  Jenny  clung 
to  his  arm.  "  I  were  less  frightened  at  your  side,"  she 
whispered.       "Do  not  send  me  away  !  " 

*•  Suffer  her  pretty  presence,"  said  La  Gambogi.  "  In- 
deed I  am  come  this  long  way  from  the  heart  of  the  town, 
that  I  may  see  her,  no  less  than  you,  George.  My  wish 
is  only  to  befriend  her.  Whv  should  she  not  set  you  a 
mannerly  example,  giving  me  welcome  ?  Come  and  sit 
by  me,  little  bride,  for  I  have  things  to  tell  you.  Though 
you  reject  my  friendship,  give  me,  at  least,  the  slight 
courtesy  of  audience.  I  will  not  detain  you  overlong, 
will  be  gone  very  soon.  Are  you  expecting  guests, 
George  .'"  On  dirait  une  manque  champetre  !  She  eved 
49 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 

the  couple  critically.      "Your  wife's  mask,"   she  said, 
♦'  is  even  better  than  yours." 

•*What  does  she  mean  ?"  whispered  Jenny.  "Oh, 
send  her  awav  !" 

"Serpent,"  was  all  George  could  say,  **  crawl  from 
our  Eden,  ere  you  poison  with  your  venom  its  fairest  den- 
izen." 

La  Gambogi  rose.  "  Even  /T/y  pride,"  she  cried 
passionately,  "  knows  certain  bounds.  I  have  been  for- 
bearing, but  even  in  my  zeal  for  friendship  I  will  not  be 
called  'serpent.'  I  will  indeed  begone  from  this  rude 
place.  Yet,  ere  I  go,  there  is  a  boon  I  will  deign  to  beg. 
Show  me,  oh  show  me  but  once  again,  the  dear  face  I 
have  so  often  caressed,  the  lips  that  were  dear  to  me  !  " 

George  started  back. 

"  What  does  she  mean  t  "  whispered  Jenny. 

"In  memory  of  our  old  friendship,"  continued  La 
Gambogi,  "grant  me  this  piteous  favour.  Show  me 
your  own  face  but  for  one  instant,  and  I  vow  I  will  never 
again  remind  you  that  I  live.  Intercede  for  me,  little 
bride.  Bid  him  unmask  for  me  You  have  more  author- 
ity over  him  than  I.  Doff  his  mask  with  your  own  ux- 
orious fingers." 

50 


THE    HAPPY    HYPOCRITE 


"  What  does  she  mean  ?  "  was  the  refrain  ofpoor  Jenny. 

"If,"  said  George,  gazing  sternly  at  his  traitress,  "  you 
do  not  go  now,  of  your  own  will,  I  must  drive  you,  man 
though  I  am,  violently  from  the  garden." 

"  DofF  vour  mask  and  I  am  gone." 

George  made  a  step  of  menace  towards  her. 

"False  saint!"  she  shrieked,  "then  /will  unmask  you." 

Like  a  panther  she  sprang  upon  him  and  clawed  at  his 
waxen  cheeks.  Jenny  fell  back,  mute  with  terror.  Vainly 
did  George  try  to  free  himself  from  the  hideous  assailant, 
who  writhed  round  and  round  him,  clawing,  clawing  at 
what  Jenny  fancied  to  be  his  face.  With  a  wild  cry, 
Jenny  fell  upon  the  furious  creature  and  tried,  with  all  her 
childish  strength,  to  release  her  dear  one.  The  combat- 
ives  swayed  to  and  fro,  a  revulsive  trinity.  There  was  a 
loud  pop,  as  though  some  great  cork  had  been  withdrawn, 
and  La  Gambogi  recoiled.  She  had  torn  away  the  mask. 
It  lay  before  her  upon  the  lawn,  upturned  to  the  sky. 

George  stood  motionless.  La  Gambogi  stared  up  into 
his  face,  and  her  dark  flush  died  swiftly  away.  For  there, 
staring  back  at  her,  was  the  man  she  had  unmasked,  but, 
lo  !  his  face  was  even  as  his  mask  had  been.  Line  for  line, 
feature  for  feature,  it  was  the  same.  'Twas  a  saint's  face. 
51 


THE   HAPPY   HYPOCRITE 

"Madam,"  he  said,  in  the  calm  voice  of  despair, 
**your  cheek  may  well  blanch,  when  you  regard  the  ruin 
you  have  brought  upon  me.  Nevertheless  do  I  pardon 
you.  The  gods  have  avenged,  through  you,  the  impos- 
ture I  wrought  upon  one  who  was  dear  to  me.  For  that 
unpardonable  sin  I  am  punished.  As  for  my  poor  bride, 
whose  love  I  stole  by  the  means  of  that  waxen  semblance, 
of  her  I  cannot  ask  pardon.  Ah,  Jenny,  Jenny  do  not 
look  at  me.  Turn  your  eyes  from  the  foul  reality  that  I 
dissembled."  He  shuddered  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 
•*  Do  not  look  at  me.  I  will  go  from  the  garden.  Nor 
will  I  ever  curse  you  with  the  odious  spectacle  of  my  face. 
Forget  me,  forget  me." 

But,  as  he  turned  to  go,  Jenny  laid  her  hands  upon  his 
wrists  and  besought  him  that  he  would  look  at  her.  *♦  For 
indeed,"  she  said,  "I  am  bewildered  by  your  strange 
words.  Why  did  you  woo  me  under  a  mask  ?  And 
why  do  you  imagine  I  could  love  you  less  dearly,  seeing 
your  own  face  ?  " 

He  looked  into  her  eyes.  On  their  violet  surface  he 
saw  the  tiny  reflection  of  his  own  face.  He  was  filled 
with  joy  and  wonder. 

*' Surely,"    said  Jenny,  "  your  face  is  even  dearer  to 

52 


THE  HAPPY  HYPOCRITE 


me,  even  fairer,  than  the  semblance  that  hid  it  and  de- 
ceived me.  I  am  not  angry.  'Twas  well  that  you 
veiled  from  me  the  full  glory  of  your  face,  for  indeed  I 
was  not  worthy  to  behold  it  too  soon.  But  I  am  your 
wife  now.  Let  me  look  always  at  your  own  face.  Let 
the  time  of  my  probation  be  over.  Kiss  me  with  your 
own  lips." 

So  he  took  her  in  his  arms,  as  though  she  had  been  a 
little  child,  and  kissed  her  with  his  own  lips.  She  put 
her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  he  was  happier  than  he  had 
ever  been.  They  were  alone  in  the  garden  now.  Nor 
lay  the  mask  any  longer  upon  the  lawn,  for  the  sun 
had  melted  it. 


I^ere  enbjf  tbe  (€a\t  of  <^ht  i^appio  I^iopocciu, 
^  bp  Ma^  ^eerbobm.  printeb  for  John  Hane 
bp  J©in  "^SratJlcp,  at  the  lOa^siDe  press,  .§ipniijj- 
ficlb,  ,I\aaB?.,  m  ©cccmbct,  m  Dccc  j:c  ti. 


